Making a Rancher
by Vol lady
Summary: AU - The war takes Jarrod's dreams of becoming a lawyer, but will Nick sacrifice his own dreams to help his brother find a new one?
1. Chapter 1

Making a Rancher

Early 1863

Chapter 1

Traveling by boat, around the Horn from Baltimore to San Francisco had taken a long time, but when he started on the trip Jarrod thought it had been a good idea. It would give him time – time to think, time to cope, time to learn what he needed to learn, and more than anything, time to decide what would happen once he got home. Everything had changed on him in the blink of an eye, and he left Maryland feeling like he'd never adjust if he didn't give it a lot of serious thought and work. That was the way he'd been raised, after all – to think hard, to work hard, to take into careful consideration the facts and the ins and outs of any situation and make smart choices. His whole life up until he went off to war had been built around those tenets his parents had handed down to him, but this time, they really weren't working. This time, it turned out it that even a long boat trip home didn't give him enough time.

When the boat began to pull into the harbor at San Francisco, Jarrod realized he didn't plan on how seeing this place was going to tear him apart. He had already gone to school here, started law school here, started reading law with a firm here before he decided he had to go east to fight in that damned war. That damned war his parents had resisted him going to – _It's an eastern man's war, boy, not yours_, his father had said. But no, he had to go, thinking he knew what he was getting into. He really had no idea. Now he was coming back, and the only thing he had decided, the thing that solidified when he saw San Francisco harbor, was that he could not stay here. He could not go back to the life he had started before he went to war. All his plans and his dreams were pointless now, because he could never make them come true. He was not even 20 years old, and all his dreams were gone. Everything changed in a beautiful field of corn in Maryland, on a horrible day he could not handle remembering but could not stop remembering. It was a day when everything around him was horror he could not comprehend, and everything he had wanted for himself was ripped out of his hands.

When the boat docked, he bent to pick up his saddlebags. Someone else's hand reached, too. "Can I help you with those, soldier?" someone said.

Jarrod saw an old man, a grizzled sailor who was at least twice his age, bending to help him. To help _him_, when Jarrod knew he should be helping the old man. Growling, Jarrod said, "No, I can do it myself."

The old man shrugged and left him alone. Jarrod picked up his saddlebags and left the ship, finding the harbormaster's office as quick as he could, finding another boat to Stockton as quick as he could. He didn't want to stay here where all his dreams lay in ruins. He wanted out. He wanted to go home and shut the door on all of the plans and all of the memories and everything he had been once, when he lived here. He found a boat leaving in only a few hours, and he went straight to it. He put his saddlebags over his shoulder while he fumbled with his wallet to pay the fare. He at least had learned how to do that as he traveled here from Baltimore, to fumble with his wallet and get the money out successfully.

He settled in on the boat. The boat pulled out a few hours later, and as night fell, he saw the riverfront of Stockton come into view. The family didn't know he was coming. He'd have to find a way home, but he could still ride a horse just fine and he remembered where the livery stable was. The livery man recognized him immediately. "Jarrod Barkley!" he gushed and extended a hand, and then looked startled when Jarrod reached back.

Jarrod let the man's reaction go. "Sam, good to see you. Can you rent me a mount? I'll see you get it back tomorrow."

"Sure thing, sure thing, I'll saddle one up for you," Sam said and got to work, quickly, awkwardly.

Jarrod waited. It didn't take long. He threw his saddlebags up behind the saddle and mounted up. "Thanks, Sam. Put it on the bill, huh?"

"Sure thing, Jarrod," Sam said, and then said, "Welcome home, soldier."

Jarrod gave a small smile and headed out of town.

Jarrod had long ago gotten rid of his uniform and was in civilian clothes, but he knew anyone who looked at him would know he'd been in the war. It was glaringly obvious. Jarrod only accepted being called "soldier" because of how obvious it was he had been one. He wondered, as he headed home, how the family was going to take his appearance. He had written them about what happened, so that they could prepare themselves, so that they could prepare the little ones. Audra wasn't quite 6, Eugene not quite 5. Jarrod had been gone for nearly two years and wasn't sure they would even remember him, but more frightening was the look he expected to see on their faces when they saw him now. Not just a lack of recognition. Not just that they were looking at a stranger. They'd be looking at a strange stranger. Jarrod didn't know how he was going to take that.

And he hadn't been able to tell his family exactly when he'd appear at the front door, so they wouldn't be expecting him tonight. This homecoming was going to be difficult all the way around. Maybe he should have stayed in San Francisco for a couple days and wired ahead. But no, he couldn't do that. That was the problem – he knew a lot more about what he couldn't do than what he could.

He rode into the familiar stable yard and found the familiar groom there waiting to take his horse. Ciego had put a few pounds on, but he still had that welcoming grin. "Senor Jarrod!" he said as he took the bridle.

But then the staring started as Jarrod climbed down and pulled his saddlebags down. "How are you, Ciego?" he asked, and for a moment wished Ciego was like the English translation of his name – blind. Ciego's expression had gone into shock.

"I am fine, Senor," Ciego said, more quietly. Then, awkwardly, "Welcome home."

Jarrod gave him a smile anyway and carrying his saddlebags over his shoulder, headed for the front door.

He stopped, wondering if he should knock or just go in. It had been such a long time and things had changed so much that suddenly he didn't feel like he belonged here either. He started to knock, then left his hand up against the door, then rested his forehead against the door. He tried his best not to cry and pulled his hurt back in. He didn't want them to see his hurt.

It was bad enough they were going to see his empty left sleeve.

The door opened abruptly. Silas was there, looking up at him, startled. Jarrod tried a smile. "Hello, Silas, how are you?"

"Oh, Mr. Jarrod," Silas said. There was a storm of feelings in his eyes.

Jarrod could see it all – the pain for the boy he had watched grow up, the grief for what the boy had lost, the sorrow that he had lost it so that the new law freeing Silas's own people could come into being, the pity for what Jarrod was going to have to endure now. Jarrod tried another smile as he stepped in through the door. "Don't worry, Silas," Jarrod said. "I know you weren't expecting me. You don't have to set another place if there's not enough dinner – just give me a hunk of bread and some coffee and it'll be just like being back in the army."

Jarrod stopped inside the foyer. His parents, his brothers and sister were all there in the parlor, all looking joyful and awkward at the same time. The little ones clung to their mother, keeping her from rushing to her oldest son's side when she obviously wanted to. Nick came forward first, extending his hand tentatively. "Jarrod, old man, welcome home."

Jarrod dropped his saddlebags onto the floor and took Nick's hand. "By golly, Brother Nick, you've shot up six inches!"

Nick laughed. "Only five."

Tom Barkley extended a hand to his oldest son. "Jarrod, son, it's good to have you home."

They hadn't really parted on good terms when Jarrod left. Tom Barkley did not want his son to go to war. But if that wasn't completely forgotten right now, it at least wasn't getting in the way. Jarrod shook his father's hand, saying, "It's good to be home, sir."

Then he looked at Audra and Eugene. They ducked behind their mother. Victoria tried an awkward smile. "They just don't really remember you, Jarrod," she said.

"And they've never seen anybody with one arm before," Jarrod said it out loud. He tried a wink and a grin for the two littlest Barkleys. "It's all right," he said. "I gave it to some people who really needed it."

"Come on, you two," Nick said and tried to round them away from their mother. "He doesn't bite. He's your brother, just like I am."

Nick herded them forward a bit. Jarrod stooped down, and he offered his hand to little Eugene. "You were a baby when I left, and now you're a man," Jarrod said.

Eugene took the hand Jarrod extended but shook it only briefly. Audra still shied away from him.

Jarrod stood up. "It's okay. You'll get used to me. Hello, Mother."

Victoria had drawn closer. Jarrod pulled her into his arm, aching over the inability to encircle her with the other one. Victoria put both her arms around him and held on tight, the tears leaking out. "I'm just so grateful you're home alive," she said.

Jarrod held her as tightly as he could, his own eyes tearing up. He thought, _Well, I've made it through the tough welcome. Now what?_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Next came dinner. Victoria was not about to stand for Jarrod feasting on a piece of bread, and Silas had prepared enough food so that he could sit down with the family to eat. What no one had realized, though, was that Jarrod had never tried to eat steak one-handed before. He had always managed to find a way to cut or mangle his meat with just a fork, but just a fork wasn't going to work when the meat wasn't boiled to death or stewed, or dried so you could just bite it off and chew it. There was a moment of complete awkwardness until Jarrod said to Nick, who was sitting beside him, "Uh, Nick – can you stick a fork in it?"

"Hm?" Nick asked.

Jarrod nodded to the steak on his plate. "Stick a fork in it. I can cut it if you can hold it still."

"Oh," Nick said, and obliged.

Jarrod was completely embarrassed, until Eugene giggled. Victoria gave the little guy a big glare, but Jarrod gave a smile. "It does look a little silly, doesn't it?" he said but kept cutting until he had cut it all into bite-sized pieces.

"It worked!" Eugene said.

Jarrod had to laugh as Nick took his fork away. "Any port in a storm," Jarrod said.

"What does that mean?" Eugene asked.

"It means you do what you need to do to get the job done and you take the help when it's there," Tom Barkley said to his youngest. "Now, eat your dinner."

There were no more embarrassing moments at the table. After dinner, Tom, Nick and Jarrod gathered in the library while Victoria took the little ones to bed. More awkwardness followed. Tom was allowing both his sons some celebratory brandy and a cigar, but Jarrod couldn't manage holding a brandy and a cigar at the same time, so he sat down in an armchair next to a little table where he could put his snifter while he puffed away. He tried to deflect the discomfort his father and brother were feeling as they held onto both their drinks and their smokes.

"I haven't had a cigar this good since I went into the army," Jarrod said and admired the cigar he held.

"From the Caribbean," Tom said. "Can't get any tobacco from the South right now. I found somebody who would ship it around the Horn to here, like you came."

"How was that trip, Jarrod?" Nick asked.

"Long and rocky," Jarrod said. "I haven't even gotten my land legs back yet. It still feels wrong to be holding still."

Jarrod knew his family were dancing around the edges of what they really wanted to ask about – _are you all right?_ He was glad they didn't ask, because he didn't know how to answer the question yet. So he went off on his own. "Mother wrote and told me how you two had your heads together and were getting Nick to learn how to run the ranch," Jarrod said. He gave his younger brother a smile. "Fifteen years old, and Mother thinks you could take over tomorrow if you had to. I'm proud of you, Nick."

"So am I," Tom said to his middle son. "Nick's going to make a fine rancher."

"Have you made any plans, Jarrod?" Nick finally got up the nerve to ask.

Jarrod had no idea what to say.

"Hey, come on, he just got home," Tom said. "It's a little soon to be asking about his plans."

Jarrod smiled a little. He knew his father was just as curious about the subject. Jarrod said, "Right now, I'm just planning to finish this cigar and this brandy and then get some sleep. I am bone tired."

"Why don't you ride out to the herd with me tomorrow?" Nick asked. "Calves are starting to come. Cattle had a good winter."

"I think I'll do that, Nick," Jarrod said. "It'll be good to breathe some fresh air that doesn't have salt water in it, or gunpowder."

"I understand those summers back east are brutal," Nick said.

Jarrod whistled. "You're telling me. Put your clothes on at dawn and they're soaking wet before you finish breakfast. They gave us these funny looking beanbags to cool us off. You soak them in water and then put them in your hat. Sounds ridiculous, but they helped. And the winter was cold and wet and gray – " Jarrod shivered. "I'm glad you and Mother came out here before you had me, Father."

They chatted idly about safe subjects for a while, but before long Jarrod finished his cigar and brandy and got up. "Heading for bed?" Tom asked.

"I think so," Jarrod said. "Same old room?"

"Just the way you left it."

Nick finished off the last of his brandy and said, "I'll walk you up and help you get squared away."

"No need, Nick," Jarrod said. "I can handle it."

"I just thought we'd talk a little more," Nick said. "I've missed my big brother."

Jarrod smiled, grabbed Nick around the neck and kissed the top of his head. Nick was still an inch or two shorter than his older brother, and still embarrassed by kisses on the top of the head, but now he laughed. He hadn't realized that he'd missed them.

"See you in the morning, Father," Jarrod said as they left the library.

Victoria was on her way in from the living room. "Calling it a night already?" she asked.

Jarrod put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, too. "I'm one tired little soldier," Jarrod said.

"Well, good night, then," Victoria said. "And I'm so glad you're home."

"Me, too," Jarrod said and he and Nick went on toward the stairs.

Victoria went into the library to find her husband staring at the fireplace. He turned when he heard her skirt moving. She could see he looked disturbed, sad. "What is it, Tom?" she asked. "Jarrod?"

Tom nodded.

"You haven't had words."

"No, no," Tom said quickly. "It's just – " He couldn't figure out how to say it.

"His arm," Victoria said.

Tom nodded. "It's not just an arm he's lost, Victoria. He's putting up a brave front, but he's lost himself."

"Of course, he has," Victoria said.

"No, you don't understand," Tom said. "Nick asked him what his plans were, and I cut the subject off. I could see there was nothing in Jarrod's eyes, nothing at all, none of that excitement when he went off to school and started studying law. He's lost it all."

Victoria slumped a little. "Well, he is tired, and he's been hurt, and he has to get himself back to some kind of normal. He's been nearly two years at war. We can't expect him to just pick up where he left off, especially – without his arm."

Tom sighed. "I wish I hadn't been so hard on him when he left. Maybe I could be of more help to him now."

Victoria came to her husband and kissed his cheek. "He's only been home for a few hours. Give it some more time. Give him time to get used to being here again. Things have changed, obviously. We're all going to have adjustments to make."

Tom nodded. "You're right, of course. It's just – I hurt so much for him, Torie. And I can't even find the words to say it."

"Neither can I, yet," Victoria said. "But we'll get there."

Upstairs, Nick carried Jarrod's saddlebags into his room and set them down on top of the dresser. Jarrod looked around, saying, "Well, it hasn't changed a bit."

"Silas has been looking after it for you," Nick said. "Do you need help with anything? Putting anything away? Anything like that?"

"No." Jarrod eased his jacket off and put it over the butler. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.

And there it was – the stump of his left arm. Almost up to his shoulder, very little of an arm left and what was left was mangled at the end and looked unhappy at best. Nick winced. Jarrod noticed, and he was angry. Not angry at Nick's reaction – he'd anticipated that. In fact, that was why he took his shirt off in his younger brother's presence. He wanted Nick to see the stump. He wanted Nick to see what a war wound looked like. He wanted to look at Nick's reaction and get angry at the war, at the world, if not at Nick. And he wanted Nick to see something else.

"This is it, Nick," Jarrod said. "This is the war. This is why if you even remotely think you're going to go, I'm going to stop you. Maybe I only have one arm left, but it'll stop you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Nick stood almost open-mouthed, at Jarrod's deformity, yes, but almost as much at his angry, nasty words. _This is the war. This is why if you even remotely think you're going to go, I'm going to stop you. _ Nick hadn't expected the words at all. "What makes you think I want to go?"

"I know you," Jarrod said. "You'd want to go because you can't pass up a fight and because I went. You can't pass up a chance to parry with me. But you're going to pass this one up. You're not going to war, ever. I won't let you."

Nick was both thunderstruck and angry. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"Your brother," Jarrod said. "Your brother without an arm. Your brother who saw the elephant and saw it run over everyone and everything around him. Your brother who doesn't know what the hell he's going to do with himself anymore because he only has one arm. I won't let you go, Nick. I'll beat you up with my one arm, and I won't let you go."

Nick fumbled for words. "Why are you bringing this up now? Why are you saying this now?"

"To let you know where we stand."

Now Nick's anger was getting the better of him. "And just how are you going to stop me? You'll be back in San Francisco turning into a lawyer. If I want to go – "

"I'm not going back to San Francisco," Jarrod said. "I'm not going to be a lawyer."

Nick was ready to burst. "What? Why not? Because you lost an arm? What the hell does that have to do with it?"

Jarrod turned to face Nick head on. "When I told my firm I was leaving to go fight for the Union, they gave me a good attaboy and told me BUT – if you are wounded, if you come back maimed, we won't train you as a courtroom lawyer. Contracts, land records, all right, but you'll never go into a courtroom."

The word "maimed" made Nick angry at Jarrod's law firm now, even angrier than he was at Jarrod. "That's crazy."

"Nobody likes looking at deformed people, Nick. They feel horrified and at the same time they feel sympathetic. My firm is afraid that maimed lawyers could draw too much sympathy with juries, especially maimed soldiers," Jarrod said. "Convictions could get overturned, jury awards could get reduced or reversed. One-armed courtroom lawyers are a complication and a distraction and aren't worth the court's time."

"They told you that?"

Jarrod nodded. "And I knew it anyway. Have you ever seen a lawyer with one arm, or a blind lawyer, or one on crutches?"

Nick hadn't seen many lawyers, period. But – "They told you that and you still went off to war?"

"I had to," Jarrod said. "And maybe I was naïve, thinking I was invincible. That's you, too, Nick. You think you're invincible, but you're not. That's why I'll do whatever it takes to stop you from going if you get the notion."

Nick forgot about himself for the moment. He thought about his brother. "You're not gonna be a lawyer?"

Jarrod shook his head. "I'm not gonna be a lawyer."

"But you could do contracts and the family's work – "

"I have no interest if I can't do courtroom work, Nick. I'd be a glorified clerk. That's not what I want."

"Well, what do you want?" Nick asked. "You gotta want something."

Jarrod sighed. He almost said he didn't want anything anymore, but that wasn't really true. He just didn't know what he wanted. He only knew what he couldn't have - all the dreams he'd had before the horrific scenes he saw that day in Maryland, before he lost his arm. "I don't know, Nick. That's why you can't be like me. That's why you can't go to war."

Nick didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. Jarrod had said almost too much for this fifteen-year-old to handle. Nick ended up saying, "What can I help you with tonight?"

Jarrod shook his head. "Nothing. I can take care of myself."

"Do you want me to help you unpack?"

Jarrod shook his head again. "I can do that."

Jarrod was so drained it was alarming. Everything that had just come out of him was unplanned. He hadn't intended to say any of this to Nick or anyone else tonight, but it just spilled out. Maybe he shouldn't have let it out to a fifteen-year-old, but he and Nick had always been honest and close and maybe it had to be Nick it came out to. Maybe he should have been expecting it to happen this way. Maybe he should have known that all of his pain would come spilling out whether he wanted it to or not.

Nick fumbled. Maybe he was only fifteen, but he adored his older brother, and he too realized they had always been honest and close. He ended up saying the only thing he could think of. "I'm here for you, Jarrod. You always said you'd be here for me. Well, I'll be here for you, too."

Jarrod almost couldn't keep the floodgates closed. The catch in his throat gave him away. "Thanks, Nick. Let me get some rest. Tomorrow – tomorrow I can start thinking again."

Nick tentatively reached for his brother's shoulder, and he consciously put his hand on the shoulder that no longer had an arm. It felt awkward, horrible, but Nick left his hand there and gently squeezed.

Jarrod just nodded.

Nick left his older brother then, and realized once he got out into the hall that he was shaking. He made his way back down to the library and found his parents there. They were sitting together on the sofa, not talking when he came in. They looked up. They saw his face.

"What?" Victoria asked. "What is it?"

Nick fumbled. "Jarrod's not going back to San Francisco. He says he's not gonna be a lawyer."

"What?!" Tom said, jumping up.

"He says that firm he worked for warned him before he went away that if he came back maimed – " Nick stumbled on the word. "That if he came back maimed, they wouldn't train him as a courtroom lawyer. Something about maimed lawyers being a problem for juries, I don't quite get it. But he says if he can't be a courtroom lawyer, he doesn't want to be a glorified clerk."

"He told you all this?"

"He didn't want to. It just came out. He's hurting. He's hurting bad. We have to do something."

Victoria jumped up, prepared to head for the door, but Tom stopped her. "No, Torie, leave him alone tonight."

"But – "

"You were right to begin with, Torie. He's upset because he's tired and he's home after nearly two years and he's overwhelmed," Tom said. "Let him rest now. We can let this go for a while, till he's better able to talk about it."

"Well, what are we going to do?" Victoria said. "He wanted to be a lawyer. If he can't be a lawyer, we have to help him find something else he can be."

Tom looked at Nick, who looked back a bit vacantly. Tom could tell Nick wasn't really up to talking about this tonight, either. Jarrod had dumped a load onto him. "We don't need answers tonight," Tom said. "It's not something we can answer for him. We can only help him figure it out, but you were right to begin with. Not right now. Not tonight."

Victoria said, "Of course." But she was his mother. For all her calming words to Tom earlier about giving Jarrod time to adjust, it tore at her to think he was upstairs alone, thinking his dreams were all gone with that arm that wasn't there anymore. She wanted to be with him, to talk to him, calm him, comfort him.

But Tom said, "He's not our little boy anymore, Victoria. He's a man with man-sized problems and man-sized decisions to make. We can help him, but we can't force him. And tonight we best leave him to rest."

Victoria nodded. "Of course. Of course."

Upstairs, Jarrod laid himself down on his bed. It was completely unfamiliar to him after all these years of school and war, but it was better than cold hard ground or a rocking ship. But in the dark, there was no solace, nothing to ease him into sleep. There were only the lost dreams for his future, lost not only because of what his firm had said - lost too because of the visions still with him from that day in Maryland months ago, visions of the last time he saw his arm, and visions that were even worse. Visions that tore his tirade out and sent it after Nick. Visions that sent him slamming his eyes shut in denial. Visions that kept coming anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It had been so long since Jarrod had seen a herd of cattle grazing over the valley, with a dozen wranglers keeping watch and a gentle stream flowing down from the mountains, that he couldn't help but smile. Oh, sure, the army had some cattle along for food, mainly for the higher ranking officers, but this was an entirely different sight, a beautiful sight. This was home. This was peace and prosperity. This was life, not war and death.

Nick was pleased that Jarrod had no trouble at all riding a horse. Jarrod had asked that they pick out a good cutter for him, and he dove right into helping to keep the herd together. Nick watched, smiling. Jarrod always could maneuver a horse like he'd been born in the saddle, and now he had no trouble at all moving strays back to the herd or keeping them from wandering off in the first place. Granted, he wouldn't be able to use a rope or do anything else that required two hands, but he was doing good work even if he only had one.

Duke McColl came riding up to Nick, saying, "Well, I'll tell you, that's as beautiful a sight as I've seen in a long time."

Nick grinned. "He hasn't forgotten a lick, has he?"

"Not one bit, and if I didn't know he was doing it with just one arm, I'd never notice. I thought when he went off to school he'd forget how to herd cattle, and after all that marching in the army I figured he'd forget how to sit a horse, but I was wrong."

Nick said, "Mac, Jarrod says he's not going back to law school. He's not gonna be a lawyer."

McColl looked surprised, and then not. "Because of the arm."

"He says there's no place for a maimed lawyer in court," Nick said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. The more he thought about that concept, the angrier he got at the legal profession.

McColl sighed. "Well, there's plenty of things on a ranch he won't be able to do either, but what he's doing now isn't one of them. Come branding time, he'll be cutting calves as well as any man. Maybe we have him back, Nick. Maybe he'll end up being that rancher after all."

A new twinge, a different twinge, hit Nick all of a sudden. Jarrod, a rancher. It wasn't what anyone had planned. It sure wasn't what Nick planned when he was working so hard learning the ranching business from his father all this time that Jarrod was gone. But if Jarrod's dreams really were dashed now, if Jarrod was going to be living at home now, if Jarrod was going to be a rancher after all – Nick's fifteen-year-old insecurities rose up. What was going to happen to his plans now? Jarrod was the first-born son. Did that mean that he was going to replace Nick in the order of things on this ranch? Was it Jarrod their father was going to groom to take over now?

McColl noticed Nick's face had turned into a scowl. "Relax, boy," he said. "You got things to work out if Jarrod is home to stay, but you'll work them out."

Nick shook himself out of it. It was too early to be worrying about Jarrod supplanting him in this family business, and besides, right now it was all about Jarrod. It had to be. He was the one in trouble. He was the one who needed help. "I reckon we will, Mac," Nick said. "Right now, it's just good to see him doing something."

"And doing it as well as he ever did," McColl said. "There really are some things you only need one arm for."

When lunch rolled around, Nick pulled up to the chuck wagon and grabbed a plate, then sat down beside Jarrod who was already digging into beef and beans. There was nothing he needed to cut, and he had already learned to balance a plate on his knees just fine. His cup of coffee beside him on the ground, and he was good to go.

"Better than army food?" Nick asked.

"By a long shot," Jarrod said, and broke into a chorus of "Hardtack, Come Again No More."

Nick laughed. "Good to hear you singing again, big brother."

"It's been a good day, Nick," Jarrod said. "Good to get out and riding and working again. Thanks for asking me to come along."

"Feel better than you did last night?"

"Yeah," Jarrod said, shame in his voice. "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what got into me, just taking off that way."

"Forget it. You're entitled to a bad spell now and then. I'm glad you're doing better today."

Jarrod heaved a sigh. He wasn't about to tell Nick how fragile his temper had become since losing his arm. He wasn't about to bring up all the horror he'd seen in the war, though he was absolutely certain it was the cause of his rocky attitude. If he even began to think about those things, he'd be back into threatening Nick with a whipping if he even thought about going to war. Not that he had changed his mind any. If Nick tried to go, Jarrod had long ago made up his mind that he would stop him, no matter what it took.

But none of that had to upset this day. It was beautiful, and working was beautiful, and riding and being of some actual use was beautiful. Jarrod said, "It'll take time, Nick, but I'll be all right. As soon as I figure out where I can be of use again, I'll be all right."

That uncomfortable twinge hit Nick again, that nagging feeling that now that Jarrod was home, it was him their Father would be looking to to take over the ranch. Nick didn't want to bring that up, though. He wanted to put it out of his mind, and so he dug back into his food.

They ate together in brotherly silence. Jarrod finished first and got up, saying, "Better see a man about a horse – and then see that horse about this man." He pointed to his cutter.

Nick smiled as Jarrod wandered off. That brother of his always did have a way with words that Nick liked. Before Nick finished his food, he saw Jarrod mount up and ride back to work. The twinge moved aside. It was just too good to see Jarrod ride and work and act like he used to when they were kids, before the school and before the war. Nick knew he had to find a way to get that Jarrod back for good, even if that uncomfortable twinge was determined to get in the way.

XXXXXX

When they came in from the field, Nick and Jarrod both headed upstairs to change into clean clothes, even before they saw anyone else. When they came down, their parents and the little ones were in the parlor, Audra and Eugene with their sarsaparilla, Victoria with wine and Tom with whiskey. Jarrod went looking for the scotch and was pleased to find some. He poured himself a drink, asking, "Scotch, Nick? Or whiskey?"

"Whiskey," Nick said, a little surprised that no one looked upset that he was drinking hard liquor at fifteen. His parents didn't normally allow it, just now and then when he was sick or something, but right now, with Jarrod asking, they just smiled. Nick saw Jarrod beginning to pour it for him. He let him and came over only long enough to take the glass from him, with a "Thanks."

"How did it go out there today?" Tom asked.

"Great," Jarrod said. "I know it sounds absurd for somebody to say that herding cattle was a joy today, but it was."

"He did fine, too," Nick said. "We set him up with a cutting horse, and he spent the day rounding up strays and keeping them in the herd once he got them. Jarrod, you haven't lost your touch on a horse, that's for sure."

Victoria and Tom smiled at each other.

"Obviously, I can't do everything around a ranch," Jarrod said, "but it was good to find something I can still do."

"Jarrod," Victoria said and then hesitated, wondering if the question she wanted to ask was appropriate right now. She decided it was pointless to put it off, to pretend things were not what they were. "Have you considered a prosthetic arm?"

"What's a pros – prostetic – " Eugene fumbled the word.

"It's not a real arm," Jarrod said. "It's made out of wood or metal or some other things. Yes, I considered it, and I decided against it. They're more awkward than they're worth." He left unsaid that he didn't want to face a limb like that every day, that it wouldn't be anything at all like having a useful arm. It would be like spitting in his face every morning. He'd rather learn to live without an arm.

"How about the books?" Tom asked, going back to the original subject. "You were always good at arithmetic. You can handle the books."

Nick raised an eyebrow, and Jarrod raised both of his. "The books? I thought Nick had the books mastered now."

Nick blurted out a laugh.

"I wouldn't say 'mastered,'" Tom said with a grin. "He knows how to do them, but doing the actual arithmetic has never been your brother's strong suit."

"You can have the books," Nick said quickly.

Jarrod chuckled. His father had actually gotten him familiar with them in a way, before he went off to school in San Francisco. "All right, we can give them a try anytime you like, Father. I know I ought to know how they work if I want to know how this ranch works."

"We've gotten into a few more businesses since you went away, Jarrod," Victoria said. "You ought to learn a bit about them, too."

"We have a winery now," Tom said, "not just the vineyards. We make our own red wine, a variety they call Merlot in France. We'll have some with dinner – you can get a taste. And, we have interests in two more gold mines."

Jarrod was impressed. "The war hasn't proved all that inconvenient out here, I guess."

"Not like back east, I'm sure," Tom said. "Somebody has to keep the country going."

"When can we have Merlot?" Eugene asked.

"When you're a bit older," Victoria said. "You won't even like it yet."

Jarrod brought his glass to one of the armchairs and sat down, while Tom and Nick remained standing. "Forgive me," he apologized. "I wore myself out a bit out there."

"Your first day out," Tom said. "All that fresh air can tire you."

"I'll sleep better, I guess," Jarrod said.

"Didn't you sleep well last night?" Victoria asked.

Jarrod didn't want to admit that he rarely slept well, too many dreams chasing him around in the dark, too much pain in that arm in the night. "I'll take a while getting used to my own bed again," he said.

Victoria suspected, and Tom understood. The war hadn't left their son, even if he had left it. How could it? That empty sleeve would be reminding him forever. They looked at each other, then away.

Jarrod noticed, and felt very uneasy at the pity in their eyes. That was the worst, the pity. That was the hardest to figure out how to defuse. This evening, he didn't even try. It had been a good day. That was good enough. He sipped at his scotch and relished the good feeling while it lasted.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Uh-aaah!"

Jarrod woke himself up again, the second time this night, when he rolled onto that left arm that wasn't there.

"Damn it all," he said under his breath and sat up on the edge of the bed. Did this stupid thing have to keep hurting forever? He got up, went to the basin on his dresser to wet his hand, and ran it over his face.

Someone knocked softly at the door. Jarrod was only in undershorts – he hadn't bought any pajamas or nightshirts yet. "Who is it?" he asked quietly.

"Nick," came the voice.

"Come on in," Jarrod said.

Nick entered. The room was so dark he didn't know where Jarrod was. "I heard you yell. Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Jarrod said, came back to the bed and managed to strike a match and light the lamp there.

Nick came closer. "Bad dream?" he asked.

"Bad arm," Jarrod said. "The damn thing is gone, but if I roll over on the stump sometimes it feels like it's back and somebody's twisting the hell out of it."

"Didn't the army give you something to kill the pain?"

Jarrod snorted. "Nick, if anybody ever offers you any laudanum, you turn it down. It's opium, opium and whiskey, and it'll turn you into a fiend. I got off of it as soon as I could. I'd rather take the pain. I'm all right. You can go back to bed."

"It'll be time to get up in an hour or so," Nick said and pulled up a chair. "Maybe you ought to sleep in if you can. You worked hard yesterday."

Jarrod smiled a little. "That wasn't work. I enjoyed myself. Nick – just how much of this operation we have around here has Father had you handling yourself lately?"

"Oh, a lot out on the range," Nick said. "Not so much in the books or the other businesses, though he has taken me with him on business trips to the mines and I've been there when he's been negotiating contracts for picking the peaches and the pears. I've still got a lot to learn."

"Do you like it?" Jarrod asked.

"Some things better than others," Nick said and felt that uncomfortable twinge again. "Why? Do you want to take things over?"

Jarrod was surprised at his brother's bluntness. Nick hadn't been like that when he was younger, but then he had interests of his own to protect now. "Maybe there's one or two things I can take off your hands, and Father's, once I learn the ropes. I have a lot to learn too, but I've got to do something."

"And you don't want to be a glorified clerk," Nick said.

"No," Jarrod said. Then he looked at Nick. "You think I'm crazy for not going back to law school, don't you?"

"No," Nick said. "Not if you wanted courtroom work and now you can't have it." But he did not want to admit his own insecurities just yet. There was some fifteen-year-old's pride in that, and some concern about upsetting his brother. "I guess we just have to figure out what you can do and see if you want to do it."

"I don't want to take anything away from you, Nick," Jarrod said.

Nick just shook his head. "We can deal with that stuff in the daylight. Right now – how's the arm? Does it still hurt?"

Jarrod massaged the stump carefully. Nick stared at it in the soft light. This was the second time he'd looked at it straight on. It didn't look as bad as the first time. Jarrod noticed him looking and dropped his right hand away. "It doesn't hurt as much as it did when they first cut it off," Jarrod said.

_Cut it off_. Nick cringed at the awful sound of those words. "Jarrod, I'm really sorry you lost your arm. I really am."

"I know you are, Nick," Jarrod said. "You and the rest of the family have to get used to it as much as I do."

"Does it still hurt?" Nick asked again.

"It always hurts," Jarrod said, "especially if I hit it or roll on it. But they said that over time, it'll ease off. We'll see. You better get some more sleep. You've got a long day ahead of you."

Nick got up. "You're the one with the long day. You're gonna be doing the books."

Jarrod smiled as his brother headed for the door. "Let's see which one of us is more tired when you get in tonight."

"I bet it'll be you," Nick said and left.

Jarrod watched the door close and thought, _God, he's grown up_. There was so little of that boy Jarrod left behind still there that it was difficult to believe. Working with their father on learning the ranch and businesses was turning Nick into a man fast, and while on the one hand Jarrod liked it, on the other it made him feel superfluous. Sometimes in the dark of night – tonight and even on the way home from Baltimore – Jarrod wondered if there was any place for him here. But if not here, where?

Jarrod rubbed his eyes and turned the lamp down. He crawled back into bed and stared up into the darkness. The answer was simple. If not here, nowhere. This home was all he had now. Somehow, he had to find out where his place here was, and he had to find it in such a way that he would not be hurting his younger brother. Nick was coming into his own. Jarrod didn't want to wreck that, but he didn't want to be superfluous, either. He wanted to find something of his own, somewhere, here.

XXXXXXX

When Nick came in from the field the next day, Tom and Jarrod were still huddled over books in the library. Nick looked in on them, and they both looked bleary-eyed and beat up. Nick tried not to laugh, but he did smile. "Told you," he said.

Tom looked confused.

Jarrod said, "Nick said this day would be more tiring for me than his day would be for him. And you were right, Nick. I can't see a thing right now."

Tom closed the book they were looking at. "Time to quit for today. We went over the ranch accounts, all of the gold mine accounts and two of the vineyards. That's plenty."

"What do you think, Jarrod? You feel like doing the books from now on?" Nick asked.

Jarrod gave him half a dirty look. "Not exclusively. Not if I want to keep my eyesight. When does branding season start, Nick?"

"A few weeks. You want to be our cutter?"

"Do you mind?" Jarrod asked.

"Not at all," Nick said.

"I need to go into town tomorrow to do some banking," Tom said. "I'm taking Jarrod with me. He can see the banker, check out what we do, and then we better buy him some more new clothes."

"Do you need a sidearm, Jarrod?" Nick asked.

"No," Jarrod said, smiling a little. "I still have the one you gave me when I turned sixteen."

Nick and Tom both smiled at that memory.

But Jarrod said, "I haven't worn it because – well, there's only so much this poor right hand can do at a time."

"You better wear it when you come out onto the field," Tom said. "Sometimes you do need it."

"All right," Jarrod said, although he was uncomfortable about it. He hadn't worn a sidearm or used a gun of any kind since he lost his arm. It wasn't that he was afraid of it or even skittish about it. There had just been no call for it, and in truth, the thought of holding a gun in his right hand made him feel impotent otherwise. If some emergency required his hand, he'd have to drop the gun. The whole thing felt awkward.

But he didn't say any of that. Tom said, "Let's get us something to drink, put the roses back in our cheeks." And he slapped Jarrod on the back.

Nick hustled upstairs to clean up, and Tom and Jarrod were alone in the parlor for now. Tom poured scotch for Jarrod and some for himself, too. He handed the glass to Jarrod, and the two of them sat down in the armchairs. Then there was an uncomfortable silence before Tom took a sip and started to talk.

"You know," he said, "I don't know what kind of thought you've been giving to what you want to do if you're not going back to law school. You must have thought about it on the trip home."

"I did," Jarrod said. "But I didn't know at the time how much you had taught Nick or how much you were lining him up to take over for you."

"Your mother wrote you about it."

"Yes, but that was a while ago and I know you've made more progress since then. Mother thought then that Nick could take over for you right away if he had to."

"Your mother meant the physical operation of things, not the financial or the business end of things," Tom said. "I think that's more to your temperament, but after seeing you yesterday, after you came in from the field – I know law was what you thought your calling was, but Jarrod, you got another calling in you, too. You could be one fine rancher."

"So could Nick," Jarrod said.

"And you don't want to threaten his place, I know," Tom said. "I know you, son. Since the day Nick was born, he's been almost more a priority for you than you've been for yourself. When you were four years old, you very solemnly told me that you were going to take care of Nick every day of his life." Tom smiled at the memory.

Jarrod chuckled. "Dedicated little kid, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were. And deadly serious. And I know you still mean it."

Jarrod took a sip of his drink, then stared into it. "I don't want to threaten Nick's dreams just because mine are gone, Father."

"Are you sure they're gone?"

"I can't work in a courtroom. Maimed lawyers are more trouble than they're worth because they make juries feel sorry for them and that gives everybody else a shot at appeal. If I can't work in a courtroom – I just don't want to be a lawyer."

"You may change your mind, son."

Jarrod shook his head and looked at his empty sleeve. "Only if I can grow a new arm."

Tom eyed him. "But I know you, boy. You still want to find a place for yourself."

"It's just that my options aren't that many anymore," Jarrod said and finished his drink and stared into the empty glass. "I got a lot of work to do."

Tom nodded. "We all do. You're not in this alone, you know."

Jarrod smiled and nodded. He resisted saying out loud what he was thinking – _maybe it would be better if I was_ – or at least easier if he didn't have Nick to think about, or his parents who were worrying over what was going to happen to him. Losing an arm was tough, devastating – but Jarrod knew that working his life out now was going to be just as hard.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Jarrod!" Nick yelled.

Getting some water at one of the wagons, Jarrod took a swig, put the canteen down, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah?"

Time was going by. Against sizeable odds, they had discovered something Jarrod could actually do if he were working on a fencing crew. With just one arm available, he could still carry a fencepost by balancing it on his right shoulder and steadying it with his right hand. He could take it from the wagon to the men who were digging the holes, saving them from having to make trips back and forth to the wagon. It was a little awkward, but not so much that it didn't work, so that was what Jarrod did when he ramrodded a crew repairing fence. Nick always checked on him during the day, but today it was fairly late when he came along. Jarrod looked up at him when he pulled up beside him.

Nick didn't dismount. "How much longer do you have here?"

Jarrod looked up at the work his crew still had to do, and then he looked at the sky. The end of the day was coming on, but, "We can finish before we lose the light. Why? What's up?"

"Just checking," Nick said. "I need these boys on the south ridge tomorrow. A wind blew through there about an hour ago and took some trees down. They need to be cleared."

Jarrod looked up into the sky again. There were some dark clouds down that way, but nothing had happened here, nothing strong enough to take trees down, anyway. Jarrod nodded. "They'll be available, but I was hoping to use them clearing that stretch of Brady creek that's gotten clogged with storm damage. We really need to get that done before we get more rain." It was April. It could rain hard at any time, or not.

Nick shook his head. "I want the trees cleared first. Cattle are getting in there and I don't need any broken legs."

Nick turned and rode off. Jarrod watched him, a little miffed that Nick had blown off his concerns so easily, and a little miffed that Nick was acting as if his word was the final word. Maybe it was because he was used to having it that way, and maybe it was a feeling he was entitled to have, but they hadn't really settled that question since they had been working out here together.

The incident made Jarrod realize again that they had to settle it, because he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with being the default second fiddle. Maybe that was where he was supposed to be, but he didn't like that it was just settling in that way. He felt like he had to have some kind of priority – he was the older, damn it all. But when he thought like that, he started to feel like he was being selfish and intrusive where he didn't belong. Or maybe more selfish, that he was being shunted aside because of that lack of an arm, and he didn't like feeling like any of that. Maybe it was true, but in a way finding out for sure that it was true would be better than just the vague feeling that it was. Weeks had gone by. He thought he deserved to be more certain of his place in the family – was he a valued member, or the cripple they accommodated?

Nick was a bit miffed, too, but he really wasn't sure why. Jarrod hadn't given him any grief, not really. Jarrod seldom gave him grief, but agreed to what Nick wanted him to do. Maybe he said he wanted to do other things first, like clearing Brady Creek, but Jarrod always gave in to what Nick wanted. Was that it? Was it that Jarrod always seemed to question everything Nick wanted to do before he agreed to do it? Nobody else was doing that, not even McColl.

Time was going by. A pattern was settling in that they were just letting happen, even if neither one of them felt like it was right. Neither one felt completely confident that they were really working things out well but neither one knew how to talk about it. Nick was just too focused on how he had built his own authority on the ranch since Jarrod was gone and how he was going to keep doing that, and how he was going to keep the ranch running well. Being only fifteen that was a natural way to look at things. He knew Jarrod was still figuring out where he fit in, but Nick thought it was as the second in command – third if you included their father – and that Jarrod was just getting used to that. Nick was more comfortable just letting the pattern settle in. He didn't realize how uncomfortable Jarrod was.

But the small squabbles over who should be telling men where to be and what to do in the field were increasing, and spilling over into how their father was working them into the other businesses. When Tom took Jarrod with him on a tour of the mines, Nick felt some jealousy even though Tom was leaving him in charge of everything at the ranch. Nick had been going with Tom on business trips like that fairly often – not always, but often. Now Tom was taking Jarrod, not him, saying, "Jarrod needs to learn," and leaving it at that.

Standing back from all of that, Victoria could see what was going on better than her husband or her sons could. Nick and Jarrod were jockeying for position, while Jarrod was still struggling with his war injury and Nick was still struggling with growing up. She had seen Tom working with both his sons, together and separately for several weeks. She saw he was pleased with how much both of them were learning. She even went out into the field and saw how he was especially pleased when branding time came around, and he watched his sons do their work – Nick overseeing the branding, Jarrod handling the cutting and getting the calves where they needed to be. It was a happy sight for a father to watch. It was pleasing for Victoria, too.

But both Victoria and Tom realized it didn't make decisions any easier. It was clear now that both Jarrod and Nick had the makings of both businessmen and ranchers. Maybe Nick could do more of the physical work in the field, but Jarrod had a better understanding of the books and the business world his father operated in. That should have told Tom that dividing the work and the property was the way to go, but something in him rebelled at the thought of handing his empire over to them, split in half that way. Maybe it was all those stories he'd heard about kings in old Europe who split their kingdoms between sons, only for the sons to fall out and murder each other to get the empire back in one piece and under one man. Splitting an empire created jealousy, and the last thing he wanted was for jealousy to create bad blood between his two oldest sons. He thought he'd rather sell the whole operation out from under them both than do that.

"I can understand why you worry about that," Victoria said when they lay in bed one night, nearly three months after Jarrod had come home, and talked about the way things were going. "They've always been close, and you want them to stay that way. But if you turn everything over to Jarrod, Nick is going to feel like he's wasted all the time he's spent learning the business. And if you turn everything over to Nick – well, Jarrod is just beginning to feel valuable as a man again. Pull the rug out from under him and he'll have nothing to hold onto. He'll be lost again."

"I know," Tom said. "It seems I'm doomed to hurt one or both of them more than I want to. I wish Jarrod had stayed with that dream of being a lawyer."

"The dream was ripped away with his arm, Tom," Victoria said. "If he were to settle for being what he calls a glorified clerk, he'd never be the man he ought to be."

"And if I turn him into a glorified clerk by giving him just the paperwork end of the business while Nick handles the physical ranching – I'm doing the same thing. Nick might go for it – he might be willing to give that part of the operation to his brother, because he never liked it that much anyway – but there's no guarantee of that, either. Nick could feel cheated if he doesn't get total control."

"And you also have to decide who you're going to leave the land to," Victoria reminded him. Then she thought a bit. "I wonder if they've talked about this between themselves?"

"I don't know," Tom said. "If they have, they haven't said anything to me about it."

"What would you be doing if Jarrod had never gone to law school and never gone to war?" Victoria asked. "What if he had always been interested in ranching instead?"

"He's the first born son," Tom said. "Of course, the whole operation would be his. But Nick would have known that from the start. We wouldn't be dealing with his resentment, so that scenario doesn't give us any help."

Tom turned on his side, his back to his wife.

Victoria knew the signal for _stop talking, I'm going to sleep_. But she had one more thing to say. "Whatever you decide, if you leave everything in the hands of one of them, are you prepared for the other one to go away? For good?"

Tom sighed. "I wish you hadn't brought that up. I know you're not prepared for that."

"No," Victoria said. "I'm definitely not."

"Then we have to find a way to give them both some dream to live for, and at the same time make sure this world we've built up for them keeps going."

Victoria sighed. "That's a tall order."

Tom turned back over and kissed her. "When we started on this journey together, you and I, we had plenty of tall orders in front of us. We did all right. We'll do all right with this, too. As long as we're dedicated to figuring it out, we'll figure it out."

Victoria smiled and kissed him back.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Neither Jarrod nor Nick knew how hard their father was thinking about them, harder and harder all the time, still unsure as to how to handle them. Tom, too, wondered if he was going to just let things just settle in in some way, or whether he was going to make the decision – who was his heir apparent? Nick or Jarrod? He could see a tension between his two sons building. They pretended it wasn't there, but Tom could see it was. Nick was getting bossy about a lot of things, not just work in the field, and Jarrod's temper with him was getting short. When they were younger, Jarrod would have just pulled rank on Nick and taken the reins away from him, but now, minus that arm, Jarrod's approach was far more tentative. He was letting Nick be the louder mouth, and Tom wasn't sure that was what he wanted.

When Victoria and Jarrod had first approached Tom with the idea that Jarrod would go to law school, several years ago now, Tom's first reaction was disappointment. He had just expected his first born to take over what he'd built when the time came, and working as hard as he had at keeping it going and growing. It was just a foregone conclusion on his part. But with choosing law school, Jarrod had rejected being the inheritor of all things Barkley. That hurt Tom more than he ever said. Over time, he'd gotten used to the idea, because he was grooming Nick to take over, and that was working out very much to his liking. Now, though, with Jarrod back and resuming the role and the tasks he would have had if he'd never chosen law school, Tom was finding that old dream of his first born controlling the empire was taking him over again.

And that wasn't fair to Nick, to be groomed and then cast aside, in favor of an older brother who had rejected his role and now wanted it back just because he was older. Because he now lacked an arm.

"Maybe you need to spend more time with them when they go out into the field," Victoria suggested when Tom told her more about his concerns.

He didn't understand. "I'm out there all the time."

"But spot checking, mainly," Victoria said. "You don't spend all day out there like you used to."

"There's a lot to do elsewhere, Torie," he said.

"I know, but perhaps you should take time – at least a week – to be out there when they're both out there together, doing what they normally do. I know, you watched the branding, but I was with you and that was a specific job where they each had defined duties and weren't treading on each other. Maybe you should go out there all day and see what they're doing on a normal day, see how they're getting along together, or not getting along. See who does better on one thing or another. See what it is Jarrod can do and can't do."

Tom was never one to take his wife's advice lightly. She had a way with people. She could stand back and take in the whole picture as well as the details. He was just about to suggest she probably had a good idea when a squeal came into the library from the parlor.

"Mother! Eugene is hitting me!"

Victoria rolled her eyes at yet another yelp for help from her daughter. Tom had to laugh. "Maybe you should see how _they're_ getting along, or not getting along." He kissed her before she could turn to go to Audra's rescue. "You give wise counsel, my love. I'll take it."

XXXXXXX

Jarrod and Nick were both a little surprised when their father came out for full days with them when they were both out in the field. They both felt watched – which they were – and in a funny way that drew them together more than they had been feeling. On one day when they were working together, moving the herd to the summer range, and Tom was with them all day, working beside them, they took a moment to stop together, watching him as much as he'd been watching them.

"What do you think he's up to?" Nick asked.

Jarrod smiled a little. "He's figuring out what to do with us. Or maybe just me."

Nick looked at him. "I know it's been a little weird, but we've been working things out all right, haven't we?"

Jarrod sighed. "Have we? For you, yeah, maybe things are sorting out."

Nick was surprised. "But not for you?"

"Nick, I – " Jarrod stopped. He didn't know how to say it.

"Just spit it out, Jarrod," Nick said. "You've got the silver tongue. Say what you mean."

Jarrod gave him a small smile. "You'd already been figuring out your place before I got home. You're trying to fit me into that place and I'm letting you, but I don't like it."

Nick grew dark. "What do you mean, you don't like it?"

"I don't want to be a glorified clerk," Jarrod said. "I don't want to be a glorified cowhand either, but somehow I'm ending up both." And he was immediately sorry he'd said it out loud, because he was pretty sure Nick wouldn't understand.

And Nick went straight to, "You want to take over, don't you?"

"That's not exactly it, Nick," Jarrod said.

"Then what is it? You resent not being the one telling people what to do. Jarrod, you can't just waltz back in here and pretend we haven't gone on while you've been gone. I've been learning things. I've been running things. You think I'm going to stop just because big brother has come home with – " He stopped.

Jarrod felt the anger swell up inside of him as Nick talked, and when Nick stopped when he did, it almost exploded into rage. But Jarrod reined it in. Nick had grown, sure, but he was still only fifteen with all its growing pains and misunderstandings. Jarrod completed Nick's sentence, but he did it gently, not angrily. "With no arm. Nick, I'm not looking for sympathy and I'm not looking to take anything away from you. I'm just looking for what's going to work, for me and for all of us."

"And me running things isn't it," Nick said.

Nick's anger made Jarrod's swell up again. He beat it back down. "Maybe you and I ought to be talking to Father about what _he_ wants. That's why he's out here so much lately, to figure out what _he_ wants. He's having as much trouble with this as we are."

"I'm not having any trouble," Nick said, and he abruptly rode away.

Jarrod blew up inside so bad that he nearly went after Nick, determined to yank him out of the saddle and fight it out on the ground. But that couldn't be. He couldn't guide his horse and yank Nick out of the saddle with only one hand, and he sure couldn't slug it out with a younger boy who was now almost as tall as he was, not with only one hand. Jarrod had to let it go. But he wasn't about to let go the idea that they needed to talk to their father and find out what he was thinking. After all, he was the one who really had the last word, not Nick.

Tom had watched what had happened between his sons, and even at a distance he could tell it was a fight that didn't come to blows because of Jarrod's missing arm. Watching them work together over the past few days, watching a lot of the cursory interaction - Nick saying something to Jarrod then riding away while Jarrod restrained himself – he was getting the correct picture. He was also getting a lot of looks from McColl and the other men working here. As Nick rode away from his brother now, Tom sought out McColl and rode over to him.

"Duke, I need your help," Tom said.

"I thought you might," McColl said. He'd seen Nick and Jarrod talking, too.

Tom sighed. "I have to sort these two out somehow. They've been squabbling a lot, haven't they?"

"Not really squabbling so much," McColl said. "Nick bosses everybody around, including Jarrod. Jarrod snarls at him sometimes, but mostly he just lets Nick call the shots and does his job, but his heart's not in it. He doesn't like where Nick is making him fit in."

"What do you think? Where does he fit in?"

McColl sighed now. "Nick knows a lot about how things run. He can place men and he can get them to do what he wants them to do. But he's still a kid. Jarrod's older, he's worked with men in the army and he has more of a touch with the men that eases them into doing what he wants. Nick does more brow-beating. But that's not what you're asking, is it?"

"Which one would be better at running things overall, Duke? I think I know the answer when it comes to the business end of things – Jarrod has the better head for it and he's already learned more and does better at the books and the business work than Nick does."

"That's because Nick is a workman, not a book man," McColl said.

"I gotta groom one of these boys to be me when the time comes," Tom said. "I gotta decide which one it's gonna be before they run each other out of here."

"I don't think it's that bad yet," McColl said. "But I'm glad it's not me that has to make that decision. Cause you're right – one of them is gonna be hurt for sure. But if it gets too much worse out here, it's gonna hurt them both, and one or both of them might just forget it all."

Tom watched Jarrod get back to work. "If Jarrod just hadn't gone off to war and lost that arm."

"But he did," McColl said. "And now he feels like he doesn't fit in anywhere."

"In a way, I wish they'd just slug it out."

"They can't. Or at least they won't. Nick won't fight a man with one arm, and Jarrod won't make him. It hasn't gotten that bad yet."

Tom nodded. "I'd better make sure decisions get made before that happens. I don't want these boys hating each other for life."

McColl said, "What I'd worry about if I was you is what the one you don't choose to run things will do. I don't know where Jarrod would go, but I'll bet he'd go."

"And Nick?"

McColl took a deep breath. "Oh, boss – Nick would go to war."

Tom felt panic rise up in him.

McColl said, "He sees that brother with that war wound in front of him every day, and it ought to make him turn his back on that war, but he's almost sixteen. It's doing the opposite to him. He wants to see that elephant too. If he doesn't think he's important enough around here, if you stop letting him take over and choose Jarrod over him, he'd go off to war. I'd bet on it."

"Oh, God, I can't have that," Tom moaned. "His mother can't have that. But Jarrod – what's gonna happen to Jarrod if I choose Nick over him?"

"I don't know," McColl said. "But you're gonna have to choose, or they might end up like you fear the worst – hating each other."

Tom was in agony over this. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know how to figure out what to do. He finally asked, "Which one of them can run this ranch operation better, handle the men, keep things going?"

"They can both do it," McColl said. "They'll do it different, but they can both do it. I know that doesn't help."

Tom sighed and closed his eyes against the decision that was about to hit him in the face. "Raising men ain't easy, Duke."

McColl nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Looking out the library doors, Tom saw his sons ride in – separately. Nick was about ten minutes ahead of Jarrod. Tom watched them pass each other outside the barn – Nick coming out, Jarrod going in. Nick said something to Jarrod. Jarrod nodded and waved his hand as Nick continued on toward the house. Tom made a decision. They needed to talk, tonight, after dinner. They needed to talk honestly and see where they were going, and where they wanted to go, but exactly how he was going to get that started, he wasn't sure.

Tom was not really looking forward to that talk.

"Good luck," was all Victoria said as Tom herded his sons into the library after dinner. She took the children upstairs to bed, and stayed out of the rest of it.

Tom had trouble actually looking at his sons, and in all honesty, he still was not settled with what he was about to do. He'd watched things in the field, he'd watched his sons as they talked about the books and the businesses, he'd assessed where they were in life and what they could and could not do, and he still couldn't say he would be right in choosing one over the other.

"I think we know what you want to talk about, Father," Jarrod said as he poured himself a brandy. "You've been watching us pretty closely lately. We both saw you talking to McColl a few times, too."

Nick said, "And we need to know, too. One or the other of us is gonna have to be the one you get behind to take over this whole operation someday."

"We can't have two masters," Jarrod said. "Especially when the masters are as headstrong as we are."

They looked at each other. Tom saw something he didn't expect. They had discussed this together. "If you know what I want to talk about, do you know what I'm going to say?"

Jarrod snorted. "No. I just know that I've upset the apple cart by coming back into the picture with all my professional plans gone up in smoke. And I'm sorry about that. I never intended to upend everything the way I have."

"You couldn't help it," Tom said. "You gave your arm for your country, but it left you with no place to go but here. And you belong here, Jarrod. Don't even think for a minute that isn't true."

"But where 'here'?" Jarrod asked. "That's the whole question, isn't it? You've been grooming Nick to be the rancher while I was destined to become the lawyer, except that I'm not destined for that anymore."

Tom and Nick looked at each other. They had developed a closeness while Jarrod was gone, a way of sensing what the other was thinking without even talking about it, but now they knew Jarrod had upended that, too. In Nick's eyes Tom saw worry that Tom was going to choose Jarrod now, and that closeness he had developed with his father was going to vanish. Tom said, "It's been a tough few months, and if it didn't look like it was going to get tougher, I would let you boys continue to work things out yourselves, but you seem to be getting in deeper, not finding your way out. I have to make some choices, so that you two have some direction and some better idea of where you're going. What I'm worried about – what your mother is desperately worried about – is what will happen if I make those choices. One of you is going to have to be my second in command, and one of you is going to have to be third."

They were silent then, for a long time. They'd look at each other and then look away. Tom's decision had been hard, and in a way it was a cop out, and he knew it. He had decided to wait for a minute for one or the other to give himself up. Not just to get him off the hook. To get them to come to terms with each other by themselves. It would work better that way. But if it wouldn't happen, he'd have to make a call, and he would make it.

At first it just wasn't happening, but then suddenly, it was Jarrod who said, "I won't come between what you and Nick have built, Father. I'll – figure something else out for myself."

But Nick quickly said, "No. No. If you're just trying to manipulate me, I'm not gonna let you do it."

Jarrod's blue eyes flashed. "Manipulate you?"

"And if you're not," Nick quickly said, "I'm not gonna go for it either. If you mean exactly what you say, I'm not gonna let you sacrifice what you want for what I want. Father – there's another way."

"What way?" Tom asked, but his skin crawled.

And so did Jarrod's. He knew what was coming. "No. Absolutely not. No."

Jarrod started toward Nick. Nick held him off with one raised hand and looked at his father. "Jarrod did his duty and paid the price, Father. He shouldn't have to pay any more, and I should go do my duty too."

"No!" Jarrod blasted before Tom could.

But Tom was right behind him. "No, absolutely not!"

"Nick, I told you, I was never gonna let you go to war, and I meant it!" Jarrod shouted right into Nick's face.

Nick just turned and walked out.

"Nick!" Tom yelled and started for him.

But Jarrod was faster, saying, "No, let me, I can talk to him," and Jarrod took off after him.

Nick was out the front door before Jarrod caught up to him at the edge of the verandah. Jarrod grabbed him by the collar to stop him, but Nick turned on him, saying, "Let go of me, Jarrod. I'm doing the right thing."

"You're doing the wrong thing, Nick!" Jarrod yelled. "It's gonna kill them if you go off to war! Don't you see that?"

"I see that you're the one who needs to run this operation. You're better with the books and the business and you do just as well as I do with the men and the work."

"Even if that's what you think, it doesn't mean you need to leave and go east," Jarrod said.

"Jarrod, I've planned my life around running this ranch! Your dreams went up in smoke and you've had to change your life. Well, mine are going up in smoke, too and I need to change my life!"

"Not by going to war!"

Jarrod abruptly swung and connected with Nick's lip. Nick went down in the dirt, but got back up as fast as he could. "Jarrod, I'm not gonna fight you! I'm gonna do what I want to do!"

"I told you I would never let you go to war, and I won't!" Jarrod yelled. His eyes were like flame now, his face contorted in rage. He punched and he roared "I won't!" over and over again.

Confused, angry, Nick still held back and did not return the blows. Even though Jarrod was fighting like a madman, Nick held back. Even though Jarrod kept hitting him and hitting him with that one arm, and it hurt and drew blood from Nick's mouth, Nick held back. Nick understood why Jarrod didn't want him to go to war – it had cost him an arm, for God's sake. But Nick didn't understand why Jarrod was being so vicious about it. And the viciousness was not wearing out. The more Jarrod swung that one arm, the more he connected, the angrier he grew.

But Nick couldn't really have at a man with only one arm. Nick wasn't bigger than Jarrod yet, but he was close, and he could do damage if he fought back. But how could he?

Jarrod kept at him though, punching and swinging and catching Nick in the stomach and the side of the face, and Nick finally had it. Angry because Jarrod kept hitting him, angry because he felt like he had to hold back, Nick finally let the anger take over and he took the dreadfully unfair punch.

Swinging upward, he hit Jarrod on the end of his stump. He knew it would hurt him, and it did. It hurt him more than Nick realized it would. Jarrod cried out, grabbed what was left of his left arm and fell to the ground, holding it, growling like a wounded animal.

And Nick realized, that's what he was, a hurt and wounded animal, and not just in the arm. Nick didn't understand why Jarrod had turned as vehement as he had, but he suspected it was the arm and the war and the inability to be a lawyer, all of that rolled up together. Now, seeing him like this, seeing that he had really hurt him, Nick felt like dirt. "Jarrod – " he said and reached toward him.

Jarrod struggled to his knees. For a moment Nick thought he was going to get up and start swinging again, but Jarrod sat back on his haunches, still holding his stump, breathing hard against the pain. He finally said, "All right, Nick. Go. Do what you want."

Suddenly, going seemed like absolutely the last thing Nick wanted to do. "Jarrod, I'm sorry – "

Jarrod panted hard, slumped more, finally shook his head and said, "Nick – please – listen to me. Please."

Nick just stood there, saying nothing.

Jarrod went on. "I know you and I have problems here and we're having trouble working them out, but you going off to war is not the answer. Nick – when I lost this arm – right before I got hit – we were up in this cornfield. It was trampled and shot flat and there were dead and wounded everywhere. You couldn't move without tripping over somebody or slipping on blood or – "

Jarrod ran out of breath for a moment. Nick waited.

Jarrod said, "This arm – this stump – this isn't all there is of war. It isn't even the worst of it. Right before I got hit, there was this officer not ten feet away from me. He had just shot one of his own men dead who'd begged him to do it because he was hit in the eyes. His eyes were just shot away. Before this officer could even put his revolver away – " Jarrod hesitated again, and his breathing and his words grew ragged and full of pain. "Before he could put his gun away, a solid shot came bounding out of nowhere and it hit him and Nick – when that cannonball went bouncing away – that officer's head went bouncing away with it." *

Nick could have passed out right there. It was the most horrible thing he'd ever heard of, something he never knew about war, something he'd never even thought about. Just the thought of something that horrid was turning his stomach – and Jarrod had _seen_ that. Jarrod had watched that right before he lost his own arm.

Jarrod dissolved into sobbing, but just for a moment. He wiped his face, stayed on his knees. "Nick – please – I'll do anything. I'll go back to San Francisco and learn to be a glorified clerk. I'll stay here and do whatever you ask me to. You be the boss. I'll take over the books and let you handle the work and the men or I'll go enter the priesthood. Nick, I'll do anything. Just please, Nick, please – don't go to war. Stay here. Be here with Mother and Father and the kids, they need you a lot more than they need a cripple like me. Please, Nick – don't go to war."

*_The story Jarrod told Nick really happened at the Battle of Antietam on September 17, 1862._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Nick was completely stunned. He may have been only fifteen about to be sixteen, but he was rushing into manhood now. His work learning the ranch had sent him in that direction faster than any other boy his age, but now, listening to his older brother, watching him go to pieces, hearing that horrible story about what he had seen and watching him beg him not to go to war, Nick suddenly aged four more years. Suddenly he was more his older brother's contemporary than his little brother.

Nick was at an age when he didn't cry easily, but he fell down on his knees beside Jarrod and took him into his arms. Jarrod cried out his pain, the physical as well as the pain brought on by the memories and his desperation to keep Nick from going to fight in the war. Nick realized all of that was happening. All of that had guided every word, every punch, everything Jarrod had thrown at him. He held Jarrod until finally the tears ran dry.

Nick said, "You'd make a lousy priest."

Jarrod snorted a laugh and wiped his face. He grabbed Nick's arm with the only one he had left and held tight.

"We'll figure it out," Nick said. "I won't go to war, and you won't go to the priesthood or San Francisco or anywhere else you don't want to go. We'll figure this out, you and me and Father. We'll figure it out."

They squeezed each other, and then Jarrod tried getting up. Nick stood up first and helped him. Jarrod got his first good look at Nick's face, at his swollen lip and bruised cheek. "I'm sorry, Brother Nick," Jarrod said. "I didn't realize I still had it in me."

Now Nick laughed. "Two arms or one, you're still a stubborn, ornery Barkley when you want to be."

Jarrod heaved a sigh as they headed toward the house, still holding onto one another. Nick helped Jarrod through the front door, and there they were, both parents, waiting in the foyer. Jarrod and Nick stopped right there, Jarrod weak, Nick bleeding. Nick knew now what he had to do and what he had to say.

"Father," he said. "I won't go to war. I'll be your third in command. We'll work it out."

Surprised, Jarrod straightened a bit. He looked at Nick, and he saw that contemporary, that man his kid brother had become. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Nick nodded. "Never been surer of anything."

Victoria and Tom gathered them up and took them into the living room. They sat them down on the settee, assessed injuries and figured some ice on Nick's lip and Jarrod's knuckles and some astringent were all that was going to be necessary. As Victoria went for the ice, Tom extended his hand to his younger son, saying, "Thank you, Nick."

Nick shook his father's hand.

It was much later, after Nick had gotten his swollen lip down and headed for bed, that Nick heard the knock at his door. Still dressed, he just said, "Come in."

And his mother entered. Nick was surprised. He had expected Jarrod or maybe their father, but not their mother. "I wanted a moment with you privately," Victoria said.

"All right," Nick said.

She came close to him. "I know you're hurting. I know you had your heart set on running this ranch and the other businesses someday. But what you did tonight has moved me more than I can say. You sacrificed your dreams so your brother could survive. I can't tell you how proud I am of you."

Nick smiled, embarrassed. "It's nothing, Mother. I didn't give up that much."

"Yes, you did. And I'm grateful to you, too," Victoria went on. "I couldn't have born it if you went off to war, Nick, not after what happened to Jarrod."

"I know," Nick said. "That finally penetrated my thick skull. I know I can't go to war. I could never hurt you that much."

Victoria touched Nick's cheek, just below where the bruise was coming up. "And one more thing. Thank you for letting Jarrod have a few blows. He hasn't felt like much of a man since he came home."

"And beating me up gave him a jolt, I know," Nick said. "And he whomped me good with just that one arm. I didn't let him feel like a man. He earned that."

Victoria shook her head in disbelief. "How did you grow up so fast? Not even sixteen, but I swear, you're more like twenty-two."

Now Nick chuckled. "It just happened, Mother. I understand more things than I did before Jarrod came home. Maybe the most important thing is how much I love my big brother, and how grateful I am he's come back to us. And how sometimes a sacrifice is everything, and sometimes it's hardly anything at all when you compare it to what you get in return."

Victoria kissed him. "Good night, Nick. I love you."

Nick kissed her back. "I love you too, Mother."

XXXXXXXX

July 1863

Jarrod watched as the men below moved the herd toward Brady Creek. A drought had hit and other normally reliable sources of water were drying up. Brady Creek was not affected by drought as much, since it came down from the mountains where snowmelt was still taking place at the top after a strong winter. It was not a hard drive. There were four hundred head of cattle that would be just fine.

Nick was ramrodding the men in the field. Over these past weeks, since Jarrod took over as Tom's second in command, they had developed a way of working together that seemed to suit all of them all right. When Tom was present and in charge, Jarrod and Nick were somewhat co-equal ramrods. Tom would direct what he wanted done, what crews would go where, and which crews each of his sons and the foreman McColl would boss. When Jarrod was in charge, he would do what Tom did, plus taking charge of one of the crews himself if necessary. When Tom and Jarrod were both away, Nick would direct the work and the crews and have the final word.

It worked. Nick found it a lot easier to accept than he thought he would, and after a while he adjusted to giving up the authority to have the final say when he had to. Better though, he no longer had responsibility for the books, and even though he went along once or twice, the business trips with his father were Jarrod's chores. Nick could spend more time outside, doing the work he loved to do, rather than inside with books and business suits. Jarrod took over those duties, and that was working into both the brothers' liking.

Jarrod was overseeing the operation when Tom rode up beside him, somewhat late in the day. "Hello, Father," Jarrod said. "What brings you out here at this time of day?"

"News," Tom said. "Got word today. The Confederates were pushed back at Gettysburg on July 3 and Bobby Lee is on the run."

Jarrod smiled. "Really?"

Tom nodded. "And Vicksburg fell on July 4. The tide's turning, son. The war is finally gonna start winding down."

"I don't know," Jarrod said, more doubtful. "There's still a lot of fight back there. I'll believe it when it's finally all over."

They both looked down at Nick. "Just as long as he doesn't start up with that wanting to go to war talk again."

"He won't," Jarrod said. "That I'm sure of. He's doing pretty well out there with the way we've worked things out. He hasn't said a thing about going to war anymore."

"Maybe when he hears it might be winding down, he'll be glad he didn't go. He'd get there and just have to turn around and come back."

Jarrod smiled. "Yeah, he'd hate that. But we're all right here, Father. Things are working out right here."

"I'm proud of you both, Jarrod," Tom said. "You've said all your life that you'd be there for Nick, and you have been."

Jarrod nodded. "More like he's been there for me this time, Father. And you and mother have been there for both of us, especially me. Thanks, Father."

Tom gave his oldest a smile. "See you at dinner, son," he said, and he rode back home. The smile stayed right where it was, all the way.

End of Part 1

Next - Building an Empire


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